Please Be Okay
by BlackBandit111
Summary: Pre-serum. Steve catches a terrible illness and Bucky has to take care of him. The only trouble? Bucky isn't feeling so great, either. Stucky. Slash. Don't own pic; credit goes to original artist.


_**So...wrote a oneshot for Stucky a while ago for my friend Kat, and then she made me read this one fic...and I didn't really ship it...but dammit. Now I do. I KNEW THIS WOULD HAPPEN. I KNEW IT. I...God. I can't. I CAN'T. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this little oneshot! Disclaimer: Do not own it.**_

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It was the worst bout of sickness Steve had seen, Bucky was sure. Now, Bucky had seen a lot concerning Steve and sickness, but not in a while, maybe six months; that had been quite the record for his small friend, who seemed to get sick every other weekend, but it hadn't mattered in the end because there was something deadly sweeping through Brooklyn like the damn plague, and Steve was just a magnet for trouble of any and all kinds.

Bucky sighs, pouring the water into the cup, doing his best to keep the jug steady in his hands. Goddammit, he knew his being sick wasn't helping but if he felt this much like shit Steve must've been nearly dying.

Which he was.

It wasn't Bucky's fault Steve had gotten the sickness. The small young man had been trying to stick up for other little guys- again- and had gotten the crap beaten out of him for his trouble. Bucky had scraped him off the pavement and practically carried him all the way home, battered and bruised as he was. The wind hadn't helped either, and all three together made for a very bad mixture.

"B-Bucky," came the weary call from the bedroom, and moments later the sound of retching filled the air. Bucky swore, forgetting his own misery as he rushed into the other room to just hold Steve up, he was so weak.

Bucky, personally, was just happy that Steve was recognizing him again. In his fevered state, Steve had been calling him by names male and female, and babbled and rambled, sometimes in intelligible languages and sometimes only in plain noises.

Steve didn't have anything to throw up besides water and was almost drowning as he bent over the garbage tin beside him in the bed. His muscles strained and his shoulders jerked, and he launched immediately into wet coughs that came from his lungs.

Bucky winced, taking the garbage tin long enough to rinse it before making a beeline back to Steve. The younger man lay stiller than death, hair slicked to his forehead by sweat, frail frame trembling.

Bucky brushed back the fine blonde hair from Steve's face, whose cheeks were flushed. Bucky sighed and wiped Steve's mouth, taking a wet rag and putting it on his forehead. Steve's too bright blue eyes cracked open.

"B...Bucky…" He mumbled, groping blindly for Bucky's hand. Bucky offered it willingly, Steve's weak grip only serving to remind how close Steve actually was...he couldn't, Bucky wouldn't let that happen...He promised to protect the squirt and here they were, so- so Steve had to hold on.

"B-Bucky," Steve whimpered, twisting around in his blankets. Bucky shushed him, gently pulling Steve against his chest.

"S'alright, Stevie," he whispered in the smaller man's ear, "S'alright. You're going to be fine. You're going t'be just fine."

For a few moments, the room was only filled with Steve's labored breathing. Bucky swallowed and tried to resist the urge to throw up. Steve wheezed, hacking and shuddering before collapsing again against Bucky, breathless. Bucky, grimacing, placed the cool cloth back on Steve's forehead.

They should go to a clinic. Steve was struggling harder to breathe now, Bucky didn't know how the hell to take care of him properly (much less when he felt like death himself), and he certainly wasn't helping anyone just sitting here.

Steve pressed his face into Bucky's neck, the heat radiating off of Steve's skin making Bucky swear. Shit, now he really had to get him to a hospital, but God knew that he couldn't carry his friend there, and Steve couldn't walk…

Steve shuddered and murmured into Bucky's neck, "C-cold…"

Bucky sighed, feeling a chill rush up his own spine. "Yeah, Stevie," he said, "I know. But you're going to feel funny for a while, Pal. Fever's messing with your head. You're actually burnin'."

Steve groaned, resting his cheek against Bucky's collarbone and turning a little into Bucky's chest. "Tired," he muttered. Bucky pursed his lips. Steve had been robbed of sleep for the past eighteen hours, busy throwing up anything and everything and coughing up his lungs.

Running a hand gently through Steve's hair, Bucky pressed his lips lightly to the top of Steve's head in a moment of tenderness. Steve made a little noise in his half-aware state.

"I know, baby," he soothed. "I know. Hang in there, okay? You're going to be alright. S'alright. S'all alright."

Steve fever lit eyes found his own, and the trust pooling within them made Bucky's heart throb. Steve's chin trembled and his eyebrows creased together. A tell tale sign that Steve was at the end of his rope. He was done. "Oh Steve," Bucky murmured. "You're alright. I know you're miserable, but you're going to be just fine." What else could he say? There was nothing else to say but that. Steve had to be alright. He'd...he'd pulled through worse.

Steve snuffled, snuggling further into Bucky's arms, and his tense muscles began to relax slightly.

Bucky's heart soared in relief. Finally. Maybe some rest.

Steve made another noise at him and Bucky shushed him softly, rocking back and forth. He'd never had to comfort anyone like he'd had to comfort Steve before, but that was okay, because it felt strangely right with Steve in his arms and his thin frame against Bucky's firmer one and his slim fingers clutching at Bucky's shirt. Even though Steve had dug himself into a pretty deep hole right now, he'd climb himself out, and Bucky would be there to help him.

It was hard to ignore the pang in his heart whenever he saw Steve like this, though. Cold and weak and so, so small, his bones like those of birds. Fragile. Breakable. But when Steve smiled his adorable, endearing smile of his and his determination and strength- those of a man much stronger in body than Steve- peeked through, Bucky couldn't help the flying of his heart and the grin on his face because Steve was, at the same time, one of the strongest people Bucky had ever met.

And Steve would get through this. He would. He had to.

Steve sagged against him further, humming a little. Bucky summoned a small smile, his chest tightening with the cough he wouldn't let loose. "There y'go, Steve," he whispered. "You're going to be fine."

Steve rubbed his cheek against Bucky's shoulder before his body went completely slack in his friend's arms and his breathing evened out. It was still labored and wheezy, but it was there, and Bucky could hear it.

Sighing and ignoring the pressing need to cough and or throw up, Bucky closed his eyes.

All would be well in the morning.

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_**Were they all in character? I did my best. Was it convincing? Believable? Thank you for taking the time to read my story and please leave me a comment!**_


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